


Present Perfect

by hexagonad (ideserveyou)



Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: Birthday Fluff, Birthday Presents, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Sparkly Packages
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-18 10:03:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1424461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ideserveyou/pseuds/hexagonad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Howard doesn't know what to get Vince for his birthday. Naboo has some advice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Present Perfect

**Author's Note:**

  * For [concupiscence66](https://archiveofourown.org/users/concupiscence66/gifts).



> Written as a birthday treat for Connie, as a result of a tumblr request for 'sparkly packages'.

Leaning on the countertop, lost in an unhappy reverie, Howard sighs deeply.

“What’re you sighin’ about, ya ballbag? An’ why haven’t you put the lights on?”

Howard snaps to attention to find that the shop’s dark and gloomy; the dusk outside has crept up without his noticing it.

As has his employer.

“Sorry, Naboo.” Howard flips the switch on the wall behind him, and winces at the green and white squares on the floor. Too bright, too square, too simple: mocking him and his complicated worries. “Sorry. I was just...”

“Snap out of it. How’re you gonna sell anyfink by bein’ miserable in the dark?” Naboo glares at him. “An’ when I ask a question, I expect an answer. What were you sighin’ about?”

Howard represses another sigh. Naboo is always at his least tolerant at the end of the working day, when he’s hungry and his lunchtime joint and potions have worn off.

“Well?” The little shaman taps one curly-trainered foot impatiently.

Only honesty will do. Howard runs hastily through all of the tangled, fractured thoughts that were running through his head, to try to find one that won’t embarrass him, one that won’t give away too much of his inmost feelings, one that won’t sound sappy or pathetic or nonsensical...

“I don’t know what to get Vince for his birthday.”

Naboo shrugs. “Oh, is that all? Well, if you’ll take my advice... nah, forget it, like you ever listen to anythin’ I say, like ‘don’t touch my stuff’...”

He turns to go.

“What would your advice be? Naboolio, I need help here.”

“Too right you do.” Naboo comes back to the counter; his expression softens a little. “You’re over-thinkin’ it. Just get him something he’ll like.”

“But I don’t know –”

“Yeah, you do. Your mistake is, you usually get him something you like, an’ he don’t like the same stuff as you. Those jazz CDs you got him for Christmas brought him out in a rash. So did the tweed jacket the Christmas before. An’ last birthday...” Naboo looks up at Howard, as though uncertain whether this is something they should be discussing.

It probably isn’t, but what the heck.

“Last birthday I wasn’t here.” Howard tries to keep his voice neutral, but it shakes a bit, even so.

Naboo looks away; stares out of the window at the darkening sky. “Last birthday you were in Denmark bein’ the anger of windy crap, or whatever it was, an’ you didn’t even send him a card.”

“I did try to phone.”

“Yeah, an’ he didn’t wanna talk to you. Can’t blame him.”

“I don’t want this birthday to be like that.”

“Neither do I,” Naboo says with feeling. “If it is, I’ll sack you for good this time. An’ Bollo’ll kick your sorry arse down the street.”

“So what can I do?” Howard asks despairingly. “It’s got to be the perfect present.”

“No it doesn’t, it’s just got to be _a_ present.” Naboo relents, and turns back to Howard. “Y’know what Vince likes, Howard. Somethin’ simple an’ shiny. Somethin’ to wear, maybe. Give him an excuse to preen in front of the mirror, as if he needed one. Wrap it in glittery paper, an’ you’re sorted.”

“It’s the thought that counts?” Howard ventures.

“Exackly. Just think ‘sparkly package’.”

“Cheers, Naboo.”

Naboo mutters something that sounds suspiciously like “idiot” as he wanders off upstairs.

 

*****

  
Sprawled on the sofa, full of cake and cherry cola, Vince yawns hugely as the closing credits to “Colobos and the Rainbow Unicorn” roll.

He hadn’t felt like having a birthday party this year, not since his party the year before had fallen totally flat because Howard hadn’t been there, so it’s been just the four of them. Howard cooked all Vince’s favourite things for tea, jelly and raspberry bootlace icecream and a big chocolate cake with sprinkles and 21 candles, and they sang ‘Happy Birthday’ as Vince blew out the candles and made a wish.

In fact Vince made several wishes, just to be on the safe side.

He wished that Howard would never ever ever go away on his birthday ever again; he wished that he could tell Howard how he felt about him; he wished that Howard felt that way about him too; he wished... several other things that he couldn’t really put into words, although they made very pretty pictures.

Then Howard started fussing that candle wax was dripping onto the chocolate icing, and Vince had to finish the blowing-out and tell the brain secretary to file the pictures away for looking at later, in the night times.

And there were presents: magical ultra-eternal-shine boot polish from Naboo, a slightly squashed box of chocolates from Bollo, an electro compilation album in the post from Leroy...

And a card from Howard, tasteful and just a little bit boring.

But no present.

Vince was hurt, but he didn’t say anything; he didn’t want another argument or more excuses or anything that would bring up anything about last year’s birthday and Howard not being there, because whenever that sort of thing has come up there have been arguments and excuses and long silences and a lot of embarrassment and Vince has always ended up worried that Howard will go away again, although so far he hasn’t.

After three of his favourite Colobos episodes and at least that many helpings of cake, Vince is feeling better but still a bit wistful.

He yawns again.

“Bedtime, little man,” Howard says heartily, a bit too heartily if anything.

Vince gets up, careful not to dislodge the peacefully snoring, weed-smelling heap of mingled gorilla and shaman next to him. “Cheers for the cake an’ everythin’ Howard, it’s been a nice evening... Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Vince. And happy birthday.”

Vince strips down to his t-shirt and socks and sits on his bed, feeling cold, sad and deflated.

He can hear Howard getting changed for bed in the next room.

It’s impossible not to listen; not to imagine how it would be, to go and knock on Howard’s door, and go in there, and tell him...

A knock on Vince’s door makes him jump.

“Vince?”

“What is it?” Vince pushes the door open a crack.

Howard is standing there in his pyjamas, looking awkwardly at the floor. “I got you a present.”

“Really?” Vince opens the door the rest of the way, suddenly all breathless with excitement.

“Really.” Howard holds out a smallish parcel wrapped in holographic rainbow paper. “I, erm, I hope you like this,” he mumbles, pushing the parcel into Vince’s hands, and turns to go.

“Don’t be a pillock.” Vince grabs his elbow and pulls him into the room. “Stay while I open it.”

He fumbles with the ribbon – honestly, who wraps parcels with ribbon these days? – feeling all happy and warm again.

“Thought I’d forgotten?” Howard asks softly.

“Well,” Vince admits, “I was a bit worried.”

“I’m sorry. But the others... I thought... Well, you might prefer to open this one in private.”

“You thought right,” Vince grins, looking at the contents of the parcel.

It’s sparkly underpants. Very small sparkly underpants. In fact not really pants at all, more a cheeky little pouch, in some sort of fabric that looks like it’s made of rainbow glitter and yet is silky-soft.

“I checked the size. I, um, looked in your underwear drawer.” Howard is blushing. It suits him.

Without thinking, Vince whips his briefs off and tries the new ones on, preening in front of the mirror, admiring the multicoloured reflections of the lights and the way the material clings. It’s a perfect fit.

Then he catches sight of Howard in the mirror, and turns round.

Howard’s face is wearing an expression that isn’t Cornish Guilt or Turkish Delight or any of Howard’s speciality expressions, but one Vince has never seen there before, except in the occasional very secret dream.

“I’m sorry about your last birthday,” Howard whispers, and reaches for Vince; pulls him in close. “I promise I’ll never be away on your birthday again.”

“Thanks Howard.” Vince kisses him, certain now that the big man won’t push him away. “They’re brilliant pants, I love them.”

“You’re, um, welcome... and, um... there’s another thing...”

Howard blushes even more as he pushes his pyjama bottoms down.

“I bought some for me as well.”

Vince laughs and laughs as he unbuttons Howard’s pyjama top and strips it off him, throwing it and his own t-shirt aside.

“What’s so funny?”

“I’m happy, is all.” Vince plants another kiss on Howard’s cheek. “An’ look, look in the mirror, look at those sparkly packages. They’re genius. Which d’you think I should unwrap first?”


End file.
